B3 – Chapter 5: A new bloom

Tristan almost couldn’t contain himself as he escorted Markus down into the depths of the Queen’s Wood roots and to Hurvun’s room. The man behind him was gawking at the interior, and then the mural they passed by depicting the Great Exodus – but he said nothing. Tristan opened the door and saw the same fairy dragon responsible for attending to his grandfather.

The fairy dragon looked up from a book and waved, “Lord Tristan. No change.”

“That will change soon,” Tristan said as he tried to calm his breathing and anxiety. He stood to the side and gestured, “Headmaster Markus, he’s in here.”

Markus entered the room and walked over to Hurvun’s bedside. He looked at the fairy dragon, “May I have the seat?” The fairy dragon flapped its wings a few times and hovered, Markus taking the seat. “First,” he said looking at Tristan, “I need to discern what caused this.”

“Poison on a dart,” Tristan replied. He rattled off the few plants that the rejuvenation-capable fairy dragon had listed Seasons prior – committed to memory in anticipation of this event. “Does that help?”

Markus nodded as he scrunched up his face, “In all likelihood, it was a type of poison that specializes in affecting the mind. Well, the brain – but that leads down the path of anatomical studies.”

“Can you fix him?” Felicity asked as she flew over and landed on the pillow next to Hurvun.

“I can,” Markus stated. “It is a Sixth Order spell, bringing a person’s mind out of the locked-up state it is now in.”

Tristan walked closer and stood at the foot of the bed, so that Hurvun would see him before anything else. He saw the gentle, shallow breathing of the man who had gone thin in his bedbound state. “Do it.” He barely kept his voice neutral, but he felt like he was on the verge of tears. Please, whatever gods are listening…let this work.

Markus cleared his throat, “Very well.” He placed his right hand onto Hurvun’s forehead – folding in his pinky and index fingers to touch underneath his middle and ring fingers – the thumb pinned below the palm. With his other hand, he folded his pinky into the palm, crossed it with the thumb, and put the other three fingers to his forehead. “La mente es una fortaleza. No se romperá. Inquebrantable, la voluntad capacita a los más poderosos para perseverar. Abre tus puertas y déjame entrar. Y al hacerlo, déjate salir una vez más. Libera tu mente.”

Orcish, Tristan thought. Damn, I was hoping it was a language I knew in case I ever came across a mind dragon…brain dragon? Either way. Come on! Work! He would have been digging his nails into his palms if not for the gauntlets. A deep, burnished bronze glow emanated as the spell phrase was spoken, and Tristan’s breath caught in his lungs as he saw his grandfather’s chest rise higher as he sucked in a deep breath.

“He’s awake!” Felicity crowed.

Hurvun sat up, “Oh…” he stretched and Tristan heard several grinding pops of ligaments being stretched. “That hits the spot.” He looked over at Felicity, “And you, little missy-”

He was cut off as Tristan rushed over. Markus had the foresight to stand up and back away, but Tristan barely noticed the headmaster. “Grandfather!” he said as he felt tears rolling down his face. “I’m sorry. If I-”

“Hey!” the man’s barking voice brought Tristan to his senses immediately. “None of that. I remember what happened. Fawkes injured me.” He chuckled and embraced Tristan, “But I’m alive. I trust I have you to thank?”

Tristan was trying to form the words but thankfully Felicity took over, “You were poisoned and went down.”

Hurvun cursed as he pulled away from Tristan, “Thought the Elemental Realm of Poison dragon blood would protect me from that.”

Markus cleared his throat gently, “You would be the mighty Hurvun Anorox?”

“Who’s asking?” Hurvun asked as he gently nudged Tristan to the side.

“Headmaster Markus of the Citadel of Essence. Your…grandson?” he asked as he looked at Tristan.

“Yes,” Tristan curtly replied as he wiped away the tears.

“Ah. I meant Bertram.”

“He’s my grandson also,” Hurvun said as he made to kick his legs over the edge of the bed, but winced in pain. “Damn. How long was I out?” he lifted the blankets and his face took on a shocked expression, “My legs look like godsdamned twigs!”

Felicity giggled a little bit, “It’s been several Seasons, old man.”

Markus cleared his throat again, “Your grandson – Bertram, not Lord Tristan – is a Pathfinder in our employ at the Citadel of Essence.”

Hurvun looked at Tristan, “There’s a story here…”

Markus had left at Felicity’s insistence; the fairy dragon companion escorting him out and up to the Fey Court chamber above, whilst Tristan spoke with his grandfather.

Filling Hurvun in took a few hours, and Tristan was emotionally exhausted by the end having filled the man in on everything. He simply sat upright in his bed, nodding sagely, asking a few clarifying questions at points, but ultimately not speaking much and just absorbing information.

“Well,” he said, “I do not blame you for slaying your father. He was a bastard, and I do not view him as my own kin. Gisele…” he swallowed back a vile curse, Tristan was sure, and spoke softly, “She is no granddaughter of mine. Hand me that seal of rightful lineage.”

Tristan drew forth the family crest from around his neck and unsocketed the black star from the back, handing it to Hurvun. The man brought it up to his lips and exhaled as he whispered, “I, Hurvun Anorox, legitimate head of the Anorox noble house, forsake my nobility.” He raised his voice and almost shouted, “Go to the Hells, you Bhant bastards!”

The black star crumbled to dust, and he looked at Tristan with a coy, sly grin. “What did you do?” Tristan asked.

“I figured that’d be obvious, son.” Hurvun put his hands behind his head and cleared his throat, “The Anorox family is no more. I am once more Hurvun the dragonslayer.”

“Why did you settle there in the first place?” Tristan asked. “Since you’re not a Human supremacist.”

Hurvun’s face flickered with a slight flash of remorse, “Because of my wife. The woman I loved. She was a fine woman, your grandmother. I wish you could have met her. Taken by the plague, and we were too far from a healer to get her help.” He grimaced, “I only survived because of my constitution, and Fawkes was not with us at the time.” He sighed. “You aren’t going back to take the family name and head position. Bertram does not want it, and I am not going back to deal with politics.” He said the last with venom in his voice.

Tristan held his family crest in his palm. One part of his identity. I’m not getting rid of it, he thought. Nor the King’s favor, or the Archon’s favor. They have spells stored within…and the Anorox crest is still a part of who I am. He slipped the seal under his chest plate. “What will you do now?”

Hurvun cracked a smile, “I have a grandson who rules a whole Realm. Don’t get me wrong, going out and hunting dragons sounds like a fun time…but I am an old man. The demon dragon fight those Seasons ago reinforced that fact. I’ll be here, living it up in my lordly grandson’s Realm as long as he’ll let me laze about.”

Tristan let out a slight chuckle, finally feeling like he could breathe once more now that the whole situation had been resolved. “You can stay as long as you want…father.”

Tristan left Hurvun down below, as he could not get up and walk given his physical status. The fairy dragon physician promised to get him on a training plan to rehabilitate his emaciated body.

The young Fey Lord asked for directions and was led to the Fey Court chambers – a room in the Queen’s Wood amongst the root-laden, stone halls.

He opened the door and saw Eloise, Markus, The Matriarch, and Thallia. All seated at an enormous, white wood table that was grown from the tree below; with large chairs of the same substance with low backs formed from the growth. Above, dangling orbs glistened with a shining, white dew that illuminated the space with a sterility and purpose.

They all stopped their talking and faced him. The Matriarch and Thallia both stood and bowed; clasping their right fist to their chest just above the collarbone before taking their seats. “Lord Tristan,” Thallia said with a dazzling, pearl-colored smile. “We have come to an accord.”

Markus was grinning broadly, “A fine accord. Shall we? Or shall you?” he asked as he looked at the Fey Realm counselors.

The Matriarch cleared her throat, “Fey Realm access will be granted for the first five days each Season – I’ll see to making the rift. Students will be escorted at a one-to-one ratio by a fairy dragon and kept to defined areas. Additionally, during those five days, access to the market will be made available for those from the Citadel…but as for other Realms, I wanted to leave that to you.”

Tristan frowned, “The Demon Realm is probably not on good terms with me.” He glanced at Eloise, “No offense – I had a fight with a Demon Lord and a demon dragon.”

The woman’s eyes went wide at the mention of the latter, “You fought one? They are incredibly rare.”

“Wyrm sized,” Tristan added. “I think for now,” he said as he faced The Matriarch once more, “It is just between the Fey Realm and the Citadel. Perhaps once I introduce myself to other Realm Protectors, and we come to good terms, we may open access to other Realms.”

Markus sagged slightly at that, but he then shrugged, “It is an astute enough decision.” He stood up and bowed slightly, “I believe that brings our business to a conclusion. Lord Tristan? Would you please return us to the Citadel? We will finish your enrollment, get your quarters set up, and I’ll have Eloise take you to the archives so that you may begin your self-study course.”

“Sure,” Tristan replied. He both-direction spun his crucible, “Felicity?” he asked aloud as his voice reverberated throughout the Fey Realm. “Meet me at the departure point.”

Returning to the Mortal Realm, Markus walked back behind his desk and sat down with a smug grin. He tented his hands as he placed his elbows on the desk. “I look forward to your continued development as an essence-weaver, Lord Tristan, and our new, flourishing relationship.” He gestured to Eloise, “She’ll be your personal advisor. At any time, you teleport to her desk using that broach, and she’ll take care of your needs – auditing a class, going to another Realm – you name it, she’ll provide.”

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Tristan turned to Eloise and she smiled, her red eyes almost dancing with excitement. “Let’s go get you to your room.” She tapped her staff, and the world shifted around them as they stood in a hallway once more. Just like the one where Bertram’s room was. She pointed to the door to Tristan’s left, “Your half-brother is there. I took the liberty of putting you next to him. You’re not technically in student housing, but you are still considered a student.”

Tristan glanced at her and grabbed the pin on his cloak, “Those with ill intentions cannot enter, yet teleportation works? Even Interrealm Warp. How?”

“You’re on the grounds already,” she stated. “If someone tried to teleport here from elsewhere in the Mortal Realm, they would arrive in front of the guard house. But teleporting inside the Citadel or its grounds, from elsewhere inside the Citadel or its grounds, is acceptable.” She pointed to his hand that had the ring on under the gauntlet, “Realmwalking does not work outside of the Citadel grounds…but you have a workaround. An ancient spell that no one uses anymore, because the essence expenditure is far too great.” She frowned, “It does bring security concerns to light that I will be addressing with our master of warding.”

Felicity flew over to the door that Eloise had pointed to, and she put her ear next to it. “Wow, they are going at it. So loud. She’s a screamer!”